I'll Be Your Heroin
by StitchAndRepair
Summary: Mickey doesn't know why, but when he thought of sleeping with Gallagher, he thought of the pipe at his mother's lips.


I'm your pleasure

i'm your pain

I'll numb your fear just like cocaine

I'm your treasure

say my name

I'm your favourite drug

Just one hit is never enough

Lyrics from Porcelain Black - I'm Your Favourite Drug

Mickey doesn't know why, but when he thought of Ian Gallagher, he pictured gunfire in his head. A loud ringing erupting, echoing in his ears as a trigger was squeezed and a bullet fired.

He doesn't know why, but the times alone in his room with his knuckle pushed between his teeth; panting, breathless as he came, he thought of flames, of the colours red and creamy white and the sound of that same ringing echoing in his ears.

He doesn't know why but when he saw that grey-haired fucker walk into the store, the store that held the most and best memories of him and Ian, Mickey felt his hands clench into tight, white-knuckled fists at his side. His lip curled at the sight of the old guy's smug smile and the air of arrogance he brought in with him, along with the stench of wealth that radiated from him and rubbed in Mickey's face like over-used perfume, Mickey saw a flash of red in his mind.

Red like the anger that boiled viciously under his skin, blistering at his insides, red like his blood as it pumped faster around his body. And as Ian smiled back at the guy, Mickey's mind flashed red with the image of Ian - Ian's hairline prickled with sweat as he slammed his hips into someone else, as he run his hands along someone else's side, as he placed his hands on someone else's chest and dug his fingernails into the same place that he does in Mickey's skin.

His lip twitched with the anger threatening to boil over and pour from his body like water, dissolving everything around him and he suddenly felt the need to escape, to get out like he had stepped in on a moment he shouldn't be witness to.

Even after he hid in the back and ducked out of sight he heard them talking, making plans and his stomach turned at the thoughts flooding through his mind like a tsunami wave.

Thoughts of the old man's hands where Mickey's are supposed to be, the thought of Ian telling his lame jokes to someone that wasn't him, the thought of Ian giving himself to another guy in all the ways that he couldn't with Mickey.

It suddenly scared him - what those thoughts meant. What his anger meant. It frightened him that what scared him the most was the thought of another guy giving Ian everything that he, Mickey, couldn't.

But even with the fear settled in his stomach, Mickey couldn't help asking Ian, when the chime of the bell above the door had faded and the old man had long gone, "That your grandpa?"

Ian looked up at Mickey through his eyelashes, barely lifting his head from the magazine he was reading "No, just a guy I've been seeing"

"Oh" Mickey scoffed, like he hadn't already picked up on that "just a, just a guy you've been seeing"

"Yeah" answered Ian, a bored tone to his voice that had anger shooting through Mickey like spikes,

"What does he take you for picnics in the park? feed you spoonfuls of low-fat yogurt and gossip about his friends at the group home?"

He wanted, needed something from Ian. A reaction. Anger to match his. Reassurance that he was still Mickey's or just… just something. But instead Ian just smirked and looked at him with his eyebrows raised in a skeptical frown,

"What are you jealous?"

"of him?" Mickey's eyes bugged out in disbelief and he scratched at his eyebrow with his thumb and shook his head at the mere idea,

"you're jealous" Ian stated confidently and Mickey's top lip tugged upwards in a sneer

"I'm not fucking jealous!"

"What the hell is your problem Mickey?" and Mickey bit down on his lip as he finally got the reaction he wanted, the anger. He needed Ian to get angry with him and he wasn't even sure why, but fuck, he needed it like oxygen "You fuck Angie - what, I can't fuck someone else?"

"I don't care if…"

"if you really don't care, why act like you're jealous?" Ian's anger fizzled out as quickly as it came and it's place stood smugness, tall and proud and it made Mickey's fingers curl inwards, tips pressed too hard into his palm and suddenly he wanted nothing more than for this thing to be over. Him and Ian and everything about them to just be over. He bit back a growl as he protested Ian's accusations,

"ay whoa, I ain't fucking jealous. I've got fuck all to be jealous about. What do you think this is?" Mickey found himself asking, as if Ian needed reminding, "I told you what this was about. I told you what we are"

and Mickey saw the memory of their last argument that took place in the same place they were stood flicker like a broken light across Ian's face and he almost pierced through his tongue with his teeth in anger at himself as Ian just scoffed in disbelief and walked off.

"Fuck!" Mickey bit out as the bell chimed Ian's exit.

This is it, Mickey thought to himself for the hundredth time that evening, this is exactly the break he needed from Gallagher. He needed for this to be over and now it was. It was done and he was done with Ian and now Ian was done with him and that was.. that was exactly how it should be.

What they had was bad he told himself, it was toxic and it was going to kill them if the wrong person found out.

Mickey knew all of that - he knew the feel of Ian's fingers on his skin shouldn't feel so good. He knew the thoughts he had of Gallagher, the things he knew about him, the things he found himself wanting to know - it was all bad. All of it was bad.

And Mickey took yet another pull on yet another cigarette as he tried to shut off the part of his brain that was telling him that he wanted more, needed more, craved more. He wasn't even aware of where his feet were taking him, he was just walking, trying to get Ian Gallagher out of his mind.

It was almost eight hours after their argument when he found himself stood on the front porch of Ian's house, fist raised and banging on the door, even as he told himself to move, to run and not look back. It's bad. they're bad.

It's supposed to be bad.

But then Ian opened the door and Mickey's brain flat-lined and all thoughts of how bad they were fell silent and suddenly all Mickey could think about was the goosebumps that appeared on his skin under Ian's fingertips, the heart in his chest that felt like it was beating for the first time every time he saw the boy stood in front of him and he thought about how good Ian felt when he was pressed against him, how right he felt. How right it all felt when they were together.

"You stopped pouting yet?" He meant the words to be an apology and he cursed himself for even thinking of apologising, for even wanting to. But he did. and he didn't know why he did, but he wanted to apologise to Ian for the whole sorry mess that they found themselves in. He wanted to apologise for having a dad that was so shitty and so scary. He wanted to apologise for always trying to push him away, for the words that spewed like venom from his mouth whenever Ian got too close. He wanted to apologise for who he is and how he is and he wants to ask Ian why he even bothers.

But the look on Ian's face says that he understands all of it, just like he always seems to know everything when it comes to Mickey. Ian gets him without Mickey even having to try and Mickey thought he might just understand why he still found himself coming back to Ian night after night, but the thought was too scary to process so instead he just looked at Ian and hoped that he got it anyway.

"You stopped being a dick yet?"

"Look I… " Mickey's tongue wrestled with itself in his mouth and it felt like his insides were tugging at it, trying to stop him from saying the words that were forming, dancing along the tip of it, ready to leave, to spill out of his mouth; ready to leave him vulnerable, open to Ian and open to being hurt and he just wasn't ready for that. "I don't… I don't want you to…" He let out a frustrated breath as the knots that were already formed in his stomach made their way up his throat and choked the apologies he was trying hard to say, squeezing at them until they dried up and crumbled apart, "I was an asshole"

He blinked away his nerves, looked up at Ian through his lashes and saw that Ian was just wearing a stupid smirk on his face. Ian rolled his eyes at him and opened the door wider, waiting for Mickey to enter.

Mickey scratched at his nose and walked in, his hand brushing Ian's side for barely a second, but he saw the goosebumps that appeared on Ian's arms and felt the hairs on his own as they stood to attention at the close contact. He took in a shaky breath and turned to face Ian, felt as a smile tugged at his lips, splitting his face apart as Ian pressed against him, knocking him against the coat hook and capturing his lips between his own.

They were upstairs and topless and Mickey could feel the urgency as it built and grew inside of him, pumping the blood faster through his body. Ian fumbled with the lock on the bedroom door and Mickey's legs and fingers twitched with impatience. Barely even waiting for the click of the lock, Mickey grabbed Ian and turned him round and slammed his body into the door, pressing his hips against Ian's own, pushing himself closer against the other boy, wanting to bury himself under Ian's skin like it was a security blanket; needing them to be closer, as one, whole.

He attacked Ian's lips with own, wanting and needing more and more of him. The hunger built in his stomach as Ian tugged at his jogging bottoms, fingers catching at his skin, leaving behind a sting of scratches like burns, like a brand, like Ian's very own mark.

Mickey doesn't know why, but when he thought of sleeping with Gallagher, he thought of the pipe at his mother's lips; the sugary, burning smell that somehow, even after all these years, lingered in the air, silently choking him with memories whenever he caught the faint scent.

He wondered if she ever felt the same way that he did; wondered if she felt that same fire in her chest, felt that deep set need. He wondered if she ever got that itching under her skin that you can never seem to scratch.

Ian Gallagher was a drug and, fucked from the minute he was born, Mickey was always going to be an addict.


End file.
